


Life isn't fair; it's just fairer than death

by isisisatis



Category: Babylon 5, Babylon 5 & Related Fandoms
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Established Relationship, Grief/Mourning, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-31
Updated: 2017-10-31
Packaged: 2019-01-27 08:37:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12577904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isisisatis/pseuds/isisisatis
Summary: Stephen could hardly imagine getting to know about a lover's death in such a way. Absolutely by accident, sprung on him out of the blue and having to keep his face in public.





	Life isn't fair; it's just fairer than death

**Author's Note:**

> Little advice: you'd better keep a box of tissues handy...

"Hello, my little son, my Marcus," the woman whispered with a tired but proud smile as the tiny bundle in her arms opened the eyes for the first time.

* * *

Prologue:  
~ Hmmm... hmmmmmm. This feels so good, Neroon, you feel so good. More, please, more! I can’t get enough of you. I need to feel you all over against me, inside me, around me.

– Like this?

~ Yes!

– ...

~ More!

– ...

~ Better... better... uh..........

Come, my Marcus; let me see your pleasure.

~ ... Ner...! Nnnh... nnn.

.

.

.

~ You know what I once said to Stephen? Touch passion when it comes your way. It’s rare enough as it is. – I’ve never been so glad to have followed my own advice. I’ve come to love you an awful lot, Neroon.

– Then I’m equally glad that you have listened to yourself, Zha’aia. A'fel E', Marcus.

* * *

"Hello John," the Minbari on the screen smiled widely, placing a hand on her chest and bowing slightly in greeting.

The relief on John’s face when he saw Delenn on the screen was obvious and the resulting, face-splitting smile made Susan grin in response. One thing less to worry for the captain.

Delenn was probably equally glad to see her future husband in good shape, as Sheridan was to see her even if it was merely on screen.

There hadn’t been contact between B5 and Minbar for a darn long time. Even Susan had begun to worry what was happening there. The few pictures which had gotten out hadn’t been reassuring in the slightest.

"I wanted to inform you of the situation here on Minbar as soon as possible," Delenn started. " We managed to resolve the problem and end the civil war, although at quite high costs. The Grey Council was rebuilt with the Worker Caste having majority since the origin of this unfortunate war were differences between Religious and Warrior Caste...

Yadda, yadda, etc. and so on... Delenn bargaining with the Warrior Caste leader, Delenn putting her own life on the front… nothing new there. At least they would have better and continued support from the Minbari woman if she wasn’t busy 'at home'. They could need her support. And if only to keep the Captain happy and level.

Susan looked around while Delenn was droning on: Sheridan listened devotedly; Marcus only looked attentive, not betraying any other sentiment for the moment; Stephen was concerned, probably pondering if he could help the wounded; and Susan herself probably looked just as bored as she actually was.

"...and due to the sacrifice of Neroon I was rescued. He gave his life for Minbar and even established the right of leadership for the Religious Caste when he renounced his Calling. He died for me, so that I would be able to lead. In the end he..."

A sudden loud clatter had Susan’s head snap around. Marcus had unexpectedly jumped from his chair and it had turned over with a rattle. All eyes - including hers - were fully trained on the Ranger.

"You bastard, you bloody bastard!" Marcus shouted at the screen, his voice cracking on the last word.

The assembled council looked astonished after Marcus when the Ranger barged from the room. And even more astonished when Stephen followed with an expletive, "Oh, shit!"

Delenn on the screen looked bewildered. "What have I done? Did I say something offending, John?"

"I don’t know. I would have never imagined the day that Marcus would call you names, even if you endangered yourself without him there to protect you."

"I think it was something else. Marcus didn’t react until you mentioned Neroon’s death," Ivanova remarked irritated. Why would Marcus react that strongly at the mention of this bastard’s sorry demise? At least Neroon had done one thing right in his life - death - whatever.

"What?!" both Delenn and Sheridan shouted at the same time, looking at her incredulous.

"Hey, don’t shoot the messenger. I just noticed," Susan answered, raising her hands in defense.

* * *

Stephen rushed after Marcus’ fluttering cloak, refraining from calling his friend, guessing Marcus wouldn’t listened in his current state anyway.

He could hardly imagine getting to know about a lover’s death in such a way. Absolutely by accident, only mentioned casually, sprung on him out of the blue in public. Marcus hadn’t even tried to keep his face but had rather fled the scene. Probably the wisest decision in consideration of the fact that Stephen was the only one who knew of Marcus’ relationship with the Minbari Captain. Stephen really could understand the Ranger and his expletives. He himself would have tried to strangle the bearer of such news even through the screen, would have accused them of lying, would have demanded proof... would have broken down in devastation.

Barley making it before the doors closed, Stephen quickly jumped into the Core Shuttle. He nearly had missed when Marcus had boarded.

The Ranger didn’t acknowledge his presence and just stonily stared out of the window, his shoulders tense and hunched.

He was hesitant to approach Marcus. The other man clearly gave the impression that he wanted to be left alone.

Stephen could only guess where Marcus was heading. Maybe the gym, to have it out with a heavy sack since Marcus seemed more pissed than devastated. Or maybe to his private quarters to flee the situation and to hide away.

But Marcus only exited the Shuttle when they reached brown sector. Now Stephen dreaded that Marcus was heading for the bar to vent his anger like once before. But the dark silhouette just meandered through the sector at a rapid pace.

Where the hell was Marcus going?

Stephen frowned when he noticed where they were headed. The reactors?

Don’t do something stupid, Marcus! Please, don’t do something stupid. If he should call security? He wouldn’t be able to stop a Ranger and former, military trained intelligence member if Marcus was determined to do whatever he intended to do.

But if Marcus had intended it, then Stephen wouldn’t have been able to keep up with him. Marcus would just have vanished.

The noise grew louder and louder the nearer Stephen got to the reactor section, droning out almost all noise.

In front of the shimmering containment field surrounding the reactors, he finally caught up with Marcus.

He was shocked at what he found.

There was rage engraved in the usually calm face and he wouldn’t have recognized his friend if it weren’t for the unmistakable hair-growth and the Ranger garb. This wasn’t Marcus; this was just pure anger and fury. The whole body expressed this same sentiment, taut with tension so that every fiber was vibrating.

Helplessly he watched how Marcus took one piece of debris after another and hurled them with all his might into the force field where they either bounced off or disintegrated.

Stephen didn’t notice at once since all sound was almost entirely swallowed by the hum of engines, annihilated by the all-present roar, then he saw the occasional movement of lips and the straining tendons of the neck. Marcus obviously vented his feelings - whatever they were - not only in a physical way but also by shouting at the top of his lungs.

After a while, Marcus stopped to throw things and just stood there with clenched fists, screaming out undistinguishable words, almost bending double in the intensity. Stephen guessed if Marcus kept it up, he wouldn’t be able to talk for several days, he might even damage his voice cords irreparable. Though Marcus surely didn’t care about that fact now and probably not in the future. Marcus always felt deeply, passionately, and to lose Neroon... he didn’t know what to expect of Marcus, how his friend would handle it.

But at least Marcus had found a way to act out his emotions in a relatively private environment, hurting nobody and it seemed it wasn’t Marcus intention to fling himself into the force field. For the moment.

Stephen still stood stunned at a distance when Marcus turned towards him.

"Please, Stephen, tell me that Neroon didn’t die for that bitch," Marcus pleaded with him.

" Sorry," Stephen whispered and lowered his gaze in helplessness.

Totally unprepared for the sudden change Stephen failed to notice when Marcus had reached a breaking point. When he looked up again, Marcus had slumped on the floor.

Cursing anxiously, Stephen rushed to the dark bundle and gathered his friend in a tight embrace, relieved when his presence was accepted and he wasn’t shoved away.

Marcus’ whole body was shaking and his hands were weakly grappling at Stephen’s uniform. Stephen quickly gathered a trembling hand in his own palm to take the pulse: faint and as rapid as a humming bird’s. His hand traveled to Marcus’ chest to monitor the breathing: also too fast and too shallow. His gaze went to Marcus’ face to watch pupil dilation and the color of the complexion, already knowing what he would find.

"Stephen…" Marcus’ voice communicated alarm and puzzlement.

"Shh, I know, try to breathe calmly. I’m here. I’m here. – Medical team, I need a stretcher and a small emergency kit at Reactor Unit 2. – Don’t worry Marcus, I’ll bring you to your quarters." Slowly he lowered Marcus’ to the floor, elevated the legs and carefully covered him with his removed uniform jacket.

He had expected that Marcus would rage, would become violent like already once happened. He hadn’t expected the sudden break down and Marcus going into shock this quickly. The Brit had already endured so much pain, loss and other shit with more aplomb and dignity that it came as a surprise. Seriously worried he kept a close eye on pulse and breathing.

"Marcus, you still with me?"

A small head movement was all the answer he received. Better than nothing.

"Oh, Marcus. I don’t know why you repeatedly get all the crap in life," Stephen whispered under his breath while he waited. He had thought, that Marcus had been lucky to get together with Neroon and had been seriously glad about the relationship that had banned a certain dullness in Marcus' eyes. 'Now, that had turned out really great,' Stephen thought bitterly.

* * *

He woke himself with a violent jerk, followed by a painful impact to his head.

Alarmed and disoriented he tried to get up and ran full-body against unyielding hardness.

This time he was awake enough to really hurt and it made him open his eyes.

Bed? Why was he in bed? And even the wrong side up?

What was the matter with him?

He dropped back with a groan and rubbed his bruised forehead.

"Hey, easy there, Marcus."

Stephen.

Ok.

And then sickening realization settled into his brain and stomach, and he urgently stumbled to the toilet.

The empty retching was painful and bitter.

Numb and miserable, he rinsed his mouth once the dry heaves had stopped. Still leaning over the sink, he was just brushing wet fingers through his hair when Stephen stepped into the tiny room. At least the man had left him his privacy until he was finished. One had to be grateful for small favors.

He wouldn’t have been able to bear it. Wasn’t able to bear it.

Didn’t want to think about it!

Forcefully he brushed past the physician into the main room.

The hot, burning fury at Neroon’s actions was back.

"This thrice bedamned bastard of a bonehead! How can he be so selfish to leave me alone?" His voice came only as a hoarse whisper. It hurt, but the pain felt satisfying.

He started to pace. He would have thought to be worn out after the episode in the reactor chamber. But he was still wired and angry. So angry!

His stomach felt like a host of nuclear fission and burning acid at the same time but since he was fully awake now, he was able to fight down the newly rising sickness.

"You son of a bitch, you… selfish prick, you origin of all evil, you… you… I don’t even find words of what you did to me! Do you see this Neroon? to what you have reduced me? to a stammering idiot resorting to common-place swearwords. You’ve always reduced me to gibberish… But this is certainly not a case where I will overlook it. I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!"

Abruptly he turned towards the door. His pike hand was itching and he needed a let-out for the unimaginable jumble of emotions he could no longer contain. He felt like a steam cooker without pressure valve.

He found the door blocked by a white shirt.

"You are not leaving with this murderous glint in your eyes. Not without sedation or handcuffs. Your choice. Hobbs still has nightmares about your bar brawl."

"I’m going insane in here! I am… I need… Bloody hell!" he pulled at his hair in frustration.

If Stephen wouldn’t let him out, he would either end up bald or wear the floor through to the next deck.

"Stephen… please," he begged, when the other man didn’t budge a step from his place in front of the door.

Stephen watched him calculatingly, his usually sympathetic eyes like unyielding steel.

Bugger. He probably even had locked the door with a medical security code.

"Marcus, you collapsed only two hours earlier. I don’t need a repeat performance. I’m not sure you realize that you have been in serious shock."

Marcus didn’t really care about his breakdown.

They stared at each other in a stalemate, neither of them giving in.

Marcus didn’t know what made Stephen relent, but he knew as soon as Stephen’s posture slumped that he had won. He felt no triumph at the fact.

"Consider yourself babysat by the CMO of B5. And in case you think of escaping…" Stephen drew a sedation gun.

Marcus released a slightly amused snort. That method would have had a greater chance at success if Stephen hadn’t revealed the gun. But secretly he was relieved that Stephen wouldn’t let him out of eyesight.

Grateful, he closed his eyes and mumbled, "Thanks."

"Now, where to? The gym? The bar? Torpedo room? Launching bay?"

"The hydroponic gardens." Somehow Stephen’s acceptance to let him roam free had taken the fight out of him. Now he wanted solitude above a possibility to rage without demolishing his quarters. He just needed to get out of here.

If his friend was surprised at the choice, he didn’t show it. He just opened the door and signed for Marcus to lead the way.

Marcus hurried off towards the gardens, not caring if Stephen was able to keep up or whom he was jostling in his haste to reach... to get away... to...

He knew he needed to calm down, but he couldn’t and his breath already came in a painfully fast pant and his heart was bruising the inside of his ribs with its violent jerks.

'Why did Neroon do this? How could he do this?!'

Once he reached some remote part of the garden where he hadn’t seen any people for a while, he tossed cloak, vest and shirt to the floor, leaving him only in his trousers and his undershirt. The cool air hit his damp flesh and he stood a moment to collect himself before he lunged into a serious of vicious attacks against imaginary adversaries.

It was a difficult form he executed and he was surprised that his mangled and muddled brain was able to concentrate on it and almost carried it out flawlessly. There seemed to be no exhaustion, no strain of abused muscles and stretched sinews, no shortness of breath; and his heart… his heart beat steady and strong. His mind drifted onto nothingness, concentrating on the movements and their precision.

He kept his mind focused until he was finished, he didn’t have to think about what happened and what his life would be in the future, only the now counted.

And when he had finished the form after 30 minutes he started anew because he couldn’t deal with thinking.

 

And again.

 

And again...

 

He stopped in mid-movement.

This didn’t change anything.

He started to shiver, only now noticing that he dropped with sweat and that rivulets ran down his face. He licked his dry lips and noted their salty taste. Like tears. He hadn’t shed one single tear so far.

'Did Neroon mean so little to him?'

"Marcus."

It was a call to draw attention and he looked up at Stephen. The man draped the cloak over his shoulders, one hand coming to rest on his back.

"Finished?" Stephen inquired quietly when Marcus still didn’t move.

"My throat hurts." He frowned, not understanding his strange answer himself, even though it was true. And he was exhausted. What did he think to undergo this form four darn times?!

He stepped away from Stephen and felt the loss of heat where his friend’s hand had been resting.

Pensively he walked back to his rooms at a slow pace. There was no need any longer to rush anywhere. His world had just collapsed. He had the feeling that somebody had mentally pulled the rug from under his feet and he was just tumbling into chaos.

He went straight to the shower when he entered his quarters, only marginally aware of Stephen’s continued presence.

Mechanically, he went through with washing the sweat from his skin and out of his hair, then dressed in the robe hanging next to the door and calmly returned to sit down on his bed, hands folded in his lap. He looked at Stephen.

Stephen looked back at him.

"I’m at a loss what to do," Marcus rasped out.

"That is understandable. Can I help somehow?"

"You are here."

"Yes, yes. Well, how about you try to rest a bit? You look exhausted. I’ll stay if you like. Or come by later if you want to be alone for a bit." Stephen paused - still standing in the middle of the room - as if waiting for an answer Marcus was unable to provide. "People are already asking what’s going on. What should I tell them?"

"I don’t care. It isn’t important any longer." Very conscious of every leaden movement, Marcus lay down and drew his legs onto the bed. Sleep didn’t sound so bad after all. He closed his eyes. A blanket was tucked around him.

"I’ll leave you to your rest and come by later. You can call me if you need anything, okay, Marcus?"

He gave a curt, angry nod, so Stephen would just leave. He didn’t need any inane babbling, empty platitudes or false pity!

Dammit, he didn’t need anything but his stupid Neroon!  
.

.

.

It proofed he wasn’t able to rest long. Only a short time after Stephen had left, he was rolling restless on the mattress.

He still couldn’t believe it. Didn’t believe it. Neroon couldn’t be gone! The Minbari had survived two major wars and now he was killed in some minor skirmish of civil war?

No.

Just... no.

Not possible.

And he wasn't just killed. No, he willingly went! In full mental health did he sacrifice his life. If this wasn't insane in itself! It wasn't an accident, wasn't fate. It was a conscious decision. Deliberate.

'You died for Minbar. And what about me? Did you even think about me when you pulled that stunt?

'You once told me I was worth to protect with all means necessary. Then why didn't you live for me?!'

He sprang from the bed and started to pace agitatedly. Seemed his floor would get worn through no matter what.

'Selfish, egoistic, uncaring bastard! And Lennier and Delenn; why didn't they do anything to stop him?! Why didn't anybody…'

His internal tirade was interrupted by the chirp that announced an incoming message.

It rang two more times before he fumingly answered the call because the chirp got on his nerves.

He growled when he saw who the caller was, it was the last person he wanted to see right now.

Fuck Delenn!

Only ingrained obedience towards a superior kept him from terminating the call.

"Marcus, how are you? I just was informed that with Neroon's noble sacrifice, you lost a lover. I'm sorry but I didn't know."

He only met her stricken and sad face with a stone-cold expression. 'What do you care now? You've always hated Neroon. You are only sorry for *your Anla'shok* not for the man who died for you and your stupid cause.'

"I would have come personally to tell you, to ease the pain of the loss. If you need some time to grieve, you are freed from duty as long as you need. Lennier and I will be there for you to help you through your difficult time. I'm truly sorry that Neroon felt the need to act in this way. It was not meant to turn out this way, Marcus. I'm so sorry for you."

"Just stop it! I don't need your pity. Do you even know what this is doing to me? I blame you for what happened. And I blame Neroon. You both failed me in the worst way I can ever imagine. And for once I don't feel guilty for anything since this time there was nothing, absolutely nothing I could have done to prevent it. Both of you made decisions that ultimately lead to that result. And I really blame you the most, since you knew what would happen, knew the Starfire Wheel was still active. I make you responsible that Neroon felt urged to sacrifice himself for you and Minbar. Am I worth nothing? Couldn't he have found another solution to return to me? Couldn't he just let you have died?"

"Marcus…" Delenn's voice was gentle. Most likely to calm his anger.

"Leave me alone, Delenn. I don't want to see you again."

Suddenly it was clear to him that he would quit the Rangers. He didn't care any longer. He fetched the Isil'zha and held it out towards Delenn. "Entil'zha, I ask you to release me from my responsibilities." Surprisingly there were no rituals to leave the Anla'shok. Nobody just quit. You either were thrown out unceremoniously or you died.

"But why?"

'Are you dumb, woman???'

He shook his head and shouted as good as his throat would allow, "I can't follow a leader anymore who took more from me than only my life. Because I have gone dead inside. And I have still to walk through my life. Alone, forever alone. And this time without another chance to have it averted. I can't anymore. I'm not sure I can *live* for the one and when I die it definitely is not because of you nor for you!"

He felt the moist, tearless burning in his eyes. There wasn't enough liquid pooling in his eyes to spill, just enough to blur his vision at the edges. Tears of anger.

"Marcus, I won't grant your request, though I will have you listed as inactive for the time being. I want you to keep the Isil'zha. You are hurt and it will ensure that you receive support on Minbar should you seek it. It would be good if you returned here, to let us care for you."

'Can you never leave me in peace?'

Carelessly he shoved the pin into a pocket and severed the connection without waiting for a dismissal from Delenn. In an afterthought he switched the console on record mode.

He briefly considered leaving his rooms again, but he didn't want to be seen in his state.

Agitated he continued the rounds he had started before until he became dizzy. Like a restless animal in its cage. Round and round. Sightless, mindless. Movement because of lack to do anything else. Round and round. Round and round.

Shakily, he eventually dropped onto his bed and activated the BabCom and switched through the news and entertainment channels. Distraction. He needed a distraction.

Great. Only ISN.

Not even Susan, the Voice of the Resistance.

He was about to switch off when he heard the mention of Minbar. And like a moth being drawn to destructive flame he had to watch.

  
###  
"… several days of no communication with the Minbari home world we now find out the reason to be a savage civil war that has broken out between the three castes. Since the ruling body – The Grey Council – has been broken by Ambassador and once council member Delenn, there has been a vacuum of power which obviously has led to the violence and a struggle for domination. According to a press release from the Minbari capital city of Yedor, the hostilities have supposedly been ended and a new council has already been installed yet without a leader. Further information will follow as soon as available. "  
###

  
Well, could have been worse, though it wasn't really informative. Despite his sudden and early exit from the meeting he had more knowledge of what had happened on Minbar. He wondered why ISN had bothered to mention the civil war on Minbar at all. Maybe they would use it to drag Delenn into the dirt. Not that he cared about that.

The picture suddenly flickered and Susan appeared on the screen.

"Hey, Susan," he whispered and somehow was glad to see the brunet woman on the screen without having directly to deal with her.

Susan reported an EF destroyer attacking civilian transporters near Proxima 3, while documenting pictures ran in the background. More dead civilians. He was awfully unaffected by it, although he could clearly discern how distressed Susan was and how much it cost her to present the cruelties in a matter of fact attitude. He wondered how much Vodka she had to drink to be able to be this calm.

What a shitty place this universe was! This finally meant open war with Earth and President Clark.

Whatever.

He was surprised, when this deciding news was followed by a short report about what had transpired on Minbar. There were pictures of the fights and he recognized some of the streets shown, had been in the temple which was now destroyed… Then there were pictures showing Delenn with burns on her face. She was summoning the new Grey Nine. Then Delenn stepped out of the middle, not taking the position of leader of the Grey Council just as Marcus had expected. What he hadn't expected, were her words. 'In memory of Neroon!'

As if that would bring Neroon back. To reserve this place in his honor! Really. It didn't bring him back. What was Delenn thinking! Neroon wouldn't have wanted that, Neroon never wanted to rule after his time as Satai, said he wasn't one for all the myriad layers and secrets and foul plays, everyone only looking for their own best and not for the common best for their people and maybe even the best for their part of the galaxy.

This woman! First, she gets him killed and then she is allegedly 'honoring' him. He was prepared to strangle her if he should ever meet her in person again!

He crashed a convenient boot at the screen, beating it against the face of the traitorous changeling.

Suddenly he began to shake.

His knees unstable, his hands not even steadied by force and his vision misting over, he sank to the floor. 'Not again; please, not again.'

And that was how Stephen found him about two minutes later: sitting under the comm screen, holding a boot in his hand and trying to stay conscious.

He waved Stephen off, when his friend was about to rush over to him. " 'm fine," he croaked.

Stephen disregarded his words, although he took the time to place some bags on the table and to switch off the again droning ISN speaker, before squatting down next to him.

"You think you can move to the bed?"

Dropping the boot he was still clutching like a life line, he struggled to an upright position and – surprisingly steady – walked over to the bed and sat down.

Obviously, Stephen was convinced by his performance because after a final glance, the physician turned towards the bags he had placed on the table and started to unpack them. "I brought something to eat. Since I still haven't figured out what your favorite food is, I brought some pasta and some Chinese for dinner. Do you feel up to eat a spot?"

'No, not particularly.' The smell of food made his empty stomach growl but the thought to actually undergo the motions of eating was exhausting and he didn't have the slightest appetite.

He shrugged indifferently.

For Stephen it seemed enough of an agreement and Marcus soon held a plate with both noodles and rice in his hand.

With a heavy sigh, Marcus put a noodle in his mouth, chewed and swallowed the lump. It only difficultly went through his sore throat. He took another bite because he was convinced that Stephen would pester him endlessly if not a decent amount of food landed in his stomach. And stayed there. At the moment the chances were good; he wasn't feeling sick.

Stephen hadn't stopped talking since handing him the plate. The sound was a welcoming distracting buzz although he didn't listen to the words.

Eventually the background sound tapered off.

Disjointedly, Marcus watched how his friend put the remaining food in the tiny cooler unit and straightened the room – which was hardly necessary and almost impossible since there wasn't anything to clean up.

Finally, Stephen sat down next to him on the bed, slightly leaning forward with the elbows on his knees, looking at him from the side. "Can I do anything else for you?"

He didn't know. He didn't know what he wanted or needed. He stared at the fiddling hands in his lap.

"You have been awfully quiet. You know you can talk to me, alright? Or not, if you don't want to. Just let me know how I can help, ok?"

'I don't know! Stop asking!' The hands were shaking.

"Marcus."

The hands were covered by another one. 'What?!'

"Can you lay down for me?"

'Again?'

Too late he noticed that Stephen had released the contents of a hypo into his arm.

* * *

He woke alone.

His quarters seemed huge and empty. He felt cold and lonely. He missed Neroon's warmth all of a sudden because somehow, he expected Neroon to be next to him. This was crazy. They had been apart for weeks and months at a time and he never had felt this need, this… loss. Emptiness. Senselessness.

There wasn't even a reason to get up. Maybe he could just lie here until he was a skeleton.

In the end, it was the urge to take a piss that he was unable to ignore and that made him leave the bed.

On his way back to decomposition, he discovered a thermos flask, some food and a letter on his table.

  
###  
You were still sleeping when I had to leave. Eat and drink and call me when awake.

Stephen  
###

  
He sat there for more than five minutes, studying the letter until it made sense. It took him another ten minutes until he was able to leave a message for Stephen, since the physician was unavailable. Somebody must have switched his brain off. Or had taken it away while he was asleep. Which really didn't matter once he was a skeleton. A skeleton didn't have nor need a brain.

Though he probably wouldn't succeed with his plan. They would find his dead body and it would be sent into space to be burnt by Epsilon Eridani. No slow decomposition, only a quick cremation.

What did Neroon feel when he died? Marcus didn't know what the Starfire Wheel was but considering Delenn's burns combined with the word fire let him think that Neroon might have burnt. It sounded painful, to be burned while still alive. Delenn should have died this way because only witches were burned on the pyre. He hoped that Neroon had died quickly, without much pain. It would be a small, although futile consolation.

Neroon…

How could he go on without Neroon?

Again, he was shaken from his thoughts by the incoming message chime. His sight blurry with dryness from staring at the wall, he stumbled his way to the comm console without further thought.

An unknown Minbari was greeting him.

"Anla'shok Cole? I'm Merlonn from the funeral parlor entrusted with Alyt Neroon's funeral. You are to be invited to the funeral of Alyt Neroon as per his will. The ashes will be on display in the Star Riders' main chapel in Yedor for three days from today for the public to take their farewell and honor his sacrifice. On the fourth day there will be a ceremony only for close relatives which you are welcome to join. Unfortunately, we are unable to meet the Alyt's request to hand you over a certain ring. The ring couldn't be found so far and we regret that it may be lost since all metal has evaporated in the Starfire's heat. I'm sorry for your loss. Please, don't hesitate to contact me if any questions should arise."

"Thank you," Marcus mumbled, neither his throat nor his lips cooperating enough to produce understandable words. He felt paralyzed; it was so real…

He needed to attend. It was in Neroon's will.

Despair was welling up in him; Neroon's will, Neroon's funeral. Ashes. The ring gone.

He had been right, Neroon had burnt to death.

Neroon was gone.

The ring, a sing of their relationship was destroyed as if it had never existed. The only remaining prove was his own ring and his memories. He didn't even have a picture of Neroon!

Oh, god, Neroon!

It hurt, it hurt so much that he was folding in on himself, keening with the pain.

* * *

Stephen, he had wanted to call Stephen.

And strangely enough, this time he managed to establish contact with the doctor.

"Marcus!? Are you fine?"

"I think... I think I could use some help?" It was more difficult to voice his inability to deal with this loss on his own than just realizing it; his voice shook despite his efforts to keep it even.

"I'm right with you, don't do anything stupid until I arrive. You hear me?"

"Stephen, it's not like this..." He was weary and felt the train of thoughts slip away again. It was just so hard to concentrate, it almost wasn't worth the effort.

"Marcus?"

"I need to go to Minbar. I need a flight."

"What?!"

"I tried... I just... I can't... Could you come?" His eyes were tearing up and he couldn't see Stephen's face anymore, only dimly heard an answer and nodded at whatever had been said.

Then he gathered barely enough energy to reach his bed only to slump down boneless, unable to move in a more comfortable and comforting position. His mind empty of anything he stared at a stain on the floor, not noticing how he drifted off yet again.  
.

.

.

Sluggishly he tried to scrabble for consciousness as he felt something tickling on his face, while uncoordinated batting at it.

"Hey, Marcus. It's me, it's Stephen. It's Stephen, just me."

"Stephen..."

"Yes. Are you awake now?"

He nodded.

"You didn't do anything, did you? Did you take anything?"

"No. I just fell asleep, was sleeping. I was tired...

"Ok, Marcus." Stephen patted his arm. "I was worried when you didn't answer your door. How are you doing?"

"I don't know. Not so good... I should be able to deal better..." Stephen's hand was still resting on his arm, rubbing his freezing skin trough the cloth. It helped to focus, not loose himself in nothingness again. He sat up. "Why are you here?" Marcus frowned; his brain seemed to be on continued absence.

Vegetable. He thought he knew now why this unkind word was used for demented people. It's what he felt like. Unable to do anything, thoughts and rationality reduced to almost nothing. He felt dumb. He stared at Stephen, not understanding the look of sorrow displaying on the other's face.

"Marcus, you need help. More help than I can give you. I'll help you as much as I can, but you'll need some serious help."

"Maybe," he shrugged. "I need to go to Minbar, to Neroon."

"Marcus..." Stephen rubbed his hands over his face; he looked defeated. "What shall I do with you?"

"Why?" Marcus was confused.

"You remember... Neroon won't be waiting for you on Minbar. He passed away."

"I know, Stephen. That's why I have to go to Minbar; they invited me to the funeral."

"Ok, fine. We can handle that. I'll get a flight to Minbar. Why don't we look if a nearby Whitestar is heading to Minbar?"

Marcus vigorously shook his head at Stephen's words. "Can't. Quit the Rangers. Tried to quit. Delenn wouldn't let me. I don't want a Whitestar."

"Ok." Stephen took a deep breath and looked at the ceiling. "Don't worry; we'll get you a flight. When is the date of the funeral?"

"I don't know. I don't know what day is today. I think we have three days? Maybe Sech Turval knows; you could call Turval?" He knew the one who had called had told him everything, but he really couldn't remember. It was so foggy as if years away instead of only hours. Days?

He started shivering again. It was so cold in here.

He noticed when Stephen covered him with a blanket and guided him to lay down again. Yes, he was tired, he could sleep again. But he didn't want to sleep again! He sighed. He missed Neroon; he would like to take a nap with Neroon. But Neroon would never be there again to take a nap with him. Never. Only good that nobody lived forever. So he only had to bear it for the rest of his life, maybe 60 to 70 years. Maybe less if he was lucky enough to die sooner.

If their souls would find each other again? Neroon once had said that they had travelled together before. Several times already. Would Neroon wait for him again?

He hoped so. He hadn't remembered to have already travelled the universe with Neroon. Although he had felt more like recognizing the Minbari when they first had met, than seeing him for the first time.

"A true and ancient Minbari soul in a young, inexperienced Human," Neroon had affectionately called it. He hadn't been sure at the time if he should feel affronted or proud. But since Neroon had kissed him passionately afterwards he had just gotten aroused. But he had never forgotten. And loving Neroon really had been so easy as if he already knew how to do it, how it was supposed to be.

Yes, Neroon would wait for him...

.

.

.

At least that was what Neroon believed in.

Maybe that was the reason why Neroon had sacrificed himself without second thought. He was convinced they would meet again.

But Neroon wasn't the one who had to live a conscious life for years on end without consolation. Neroon would just be a soul, floating, rejoining with other souls until it was time to be born again.

It was difficult to deal with this clarity of abstract thought while at the same time he was incapable to care for the simplest actions outside his mind.

For a moment he couldn't even feel or remember where or how he was. He just was. In his mind. Pure thought. Like being a soul? But he wasn't dead, too? Was he?

Finally, his body moved minutely - only the flexing of fingers - but it brought him back to the sluggish and sore reality of the physical.

Stephen was still here, silently moving through his quarters, obviously placing clothes into a backpack.

It cost him about a minute of blinking and serious thinking to understand why.

Minbar.

Neroon's funeral.

He had to be there.

Instantly he rose with the intention to help, only to be met with dizziness and weak knees.

He collapsed hard back onto the bed, sitting there dumbly, reeling. Bugger! What had that been?!

"Slowly there, Marcus."

Marcus jerked at the touch and the approach.

"You've been horizontal most of the day. Your blood pressure is probably quite low. And I'm sure you haven't eaten or drunk very much since I left you last night. Stay seated for a while longer; it'll get better."

A cool glass was pressed into his hand; he stared at the yellow liquid, wondering why it wasn't tea. He never had any juice at home, only tea.

"Drink up!" The friendly order was supported by a small nudge to his hand.

Hesitantly he rose the glass to his lips and took a tiny sip. The liquid felt good on his throat and soon he had finished the content. He actually felt better now.

"Thank you for your help, Stephen. I'm sorry to be such a nuisance."

"You are welcome. I hadn't expected this to hit you so hard. You really loved him, hm?"

Marcus bit on his lip to prevent it from shaking and nodded. Blinking away the sting in his eyes he continued hesitantly, "I think I have not yet even fully grasped the consequences. I cannot understand the meaning for me and my life. I don't even want to know how I feel once it infuses my conscious thought entirely that Neroon won't be there any longer. So far… I'm just feeling numb."

Slowly and carefully, Stephen gathered him into a tight hug. It was awkward to be embraced by someone other than Neroon. And the difference made him suddenly aware of his loss, what it really meant in all parts of life.

"How can he do this to me, Stephen? How can you do this to me?!" he whispered roughly through excruciating pain.

Stephen wiped wetness from his cheeks with a palm. Marcus hadn't noticed the tears. Tears.

"I'm sorry, Marcus. I'm sorry."

His whole body started shaking in overwhelming sorrow, and soon he allowed more tears and hoarse, gut-wrenching sobs to follow.

* * *

And it seemed he hadn't stopped crying since then, despite his efforts to keep his composure. At least that's what his eyes felt like: stinging and burning. The face a restroom mirror had shown him even looked worse and he couldn't blame the light on all of it. His eyes had been blood shot and swollen and his nose hadn't been off any better. His hair had been a tangled mess and he hadn't known if there was a comb somewhere in his pack. He had looked old. He hadn't really recognized himself. A picture of grief for everybody to see. He had felt ashamed at the time.

Back at the station, Stephen had cared for everything, just had sat him on his place on the transporter and asked one of the flight attendants to have an eye on him. Marcus had felt embarrassed at being looked over like a child. But in the end, it had been sensible because he couldn't gather a clear thought at the arrival on Minbar and his hands were shaking so bad that he had had a hard time to gather his luggage. A nice attendant had helped him and had even accompanied him to a shuttle that had brought him directly to the chapel.

And that was where he had been since he had arrived on Minbar.

He had sat down on a chair in the back of the surprisingly small room, putting his duffel bag on the worn stone floor and hadn't moved since then.

He wasn't able to go over to the urn containing Neroon's remains. This wasn't Neroon. How could he say good-bye to a piece of crystal containing dirt?

Despondently he sat and didn't really notice the numerous people filing in and out, didn't hear the laments and chants and instruments of the praying priests.

Three days nothing but praying. Neroon would have hated it.

And considering, he hated it, too. He would rather have spent the time in silence, only the ghost-like visitors invading his private farewell.

To be honest, it wasn't much of a farewell from his side. He just couldn't. How could he let Neroon go? It was like letting go of his heart; he would die instantly.

So he just sat there like a part of the furniture, everybody probably wondering what this strange Human was doing there.

If this three-day-vigil had the same reason as the ones on Earth? To make sure the death was real? To give the spirit time to leave the body? But Minbari surely had more noble reasons.

His gaze wandered around for the thousandth time. Colored light had been curiously playing over the uneven floor and over the bare walls throughout the day, now being relieved by flickering shadows thrown by numerous candles. He felt curiously calm and comfortable in the old building.

Maybe it was the incense.

He briefly saw himself standing next to his beloved at the altar, undergoing the Nafak'cha, getting married; Neroon in warrior black like always, he curiously enough in white.

The picture dissolved into tears. Why did he have this kind of thoughts? They would never have been able to marry here, no matter if it had been politically sensible, it simply wasn't approved of on Minbar. Same-sex couples living together were fine, exchanging certain vows was accepted in deference to the past relationships of souls. But marriage, marriage was sacred and the culmination of that bond were children and therefore no Caste Leader would ever agree to a bonding of two men or two women although it wasn't illegal. They would only have been able to marry after Human fashion but never at the ancient Star Riders' temple.

.

.

.

Sometime later, one of the priests brought him a bowl of flarn. Only then did Marcus realize that he – like the others – were Religious Caste. Religious Caste in a Warrior Caste chapel? He didn't understand. Didn't the Warriors have their own spiritual leaders?

Slightly surprised he stared at the priest who had sat down next to him with a second bowl.

"I'm Coplann. I hope you don't mind the plain meal; I don't have to offer anything else."

"It's... it's fine. Thank you for sharing." His voice was still slightly rough and almost inaudible. "I'm Marcus."

"Will you stay the night here or may I also offer you accommodations? You could sleep here on a pallet or together with some of us in an adjoining room."

"I think I'd like to stay here, if you don't mind."

"Very well, Marcus. Excuse me for a moment then." The priest hurried off, his robes billowing out behind him, only to return moments later with some bedding that he spread on the floor along the nearest wall.

"May I assist you with anything else?" the young man inquired kindly.

Marcus lowered his head to discreetly brush the latest tears from his eyes. "I..." he started hesitantly, "I have never been to a Minbari funeral. What will happen tomorrow?"

The Minbari smiled reassuringly, sat down again and started eating. "Are you invited? I understand that only close clan members are to attend."

Marcus gave a nod.

"Don't worry. There isn't anything required of you and the ceremony will only last an hour. The first part consists of a normal religious ceremony slightly adjusted to the occasion and will take place here in the chapel. You know the proceeding?"

"Like in the Nafak'cha?" Marcus asked. At least he had read and heard about these rituals.

"Yes," the male priest slightly bowed his head in affirmation and continued, "Then there will be a funeral procession of family members and friends accompanying Neroon to the family grave on the burial grounds. Usually there would be a pyre waiting. The mir'aal will read the last rites and the body would be laid on the pyre. Then, it is customary, that the fire is lit by the spouse, mother or sister, depending who is available, then the other family members would follow to light the pyre."

Would he have been allowed to? Probably not. Nobody knew that they had spoken vows, that he was all but Neroon's spouse. He wouldn't even be here if not for Neroon's will. And he didn't think he would have been able to set fire to Neroon's body if it had been required. Dejected, he stared at the untouched, tepid bowl of flarn in his hands. 'Why did Neroon want him here?'

"You should try to eat at least a little. It's not that bad and it's quite nourishing since it's the only dish allowed during the three-day vigil."

Not wanting to disappoint the priest's kindness, he put a spoon full into his mouth. It had a sweetish, unoffending taste and it went smoothly down his throat. It wouldn't be too difficult to eat some more. It hardly required any effort on his part but would provide him with necessary energy. When had he last eaten? He took a second spoon full and they ate a while in silence. The sound of metal on ceramics and the occasional creak of the wooden bench they were sitting on was unnaturally loud in the momentary stillness.

The Minbari placed his emptied bowl on the floor with a silent clang and continued with the explanations.

"In Neroon's case there will only be a ritualistic burning since he has already been purified through fire. Usually the ashes would be placed in an urn and brought into the grave. Sometimes a small part of the ashes will be made into diamonds and given to close family members later. Neroon's family already has the diamonds and decided to have them distributed during the burning."

"Diamonds?" Marcus asked puzzled, he had never encountered this custom.

"Well, actually this part is only practiced by the Warrior Caste. It goes back to the ancient believes that the bones of dead contain divine power and that the possessor of those bones benefits from them in life. Later, when cremation at higher temperatures became the norm, one received a little artificial 'bone' containing some of the ashes. But since the knowledge arose how to make diamonds from carbon it has become tradition to give away cut jewels. Which are decidedly more beautiful and additionally more durable than the ashes. That's how it evolved, though nowadays most people don't know the origin and only appreciate to have a pure and precious piece of the deceased as a reminder."

It was clear from the priest's indulgent expression, that he considered it an odd, barbaric custom but that he would humor the Warriors for their believes. Marcus himself wouldn't mind such a last present from his beloved, especially since the ring was gone. He didn't have any other memorabilia to remember Neroon by. He craved something tangible to aid the memories, not only untouchable thought; to remind him that their time together had been real, not only an imagination. A small connection to former joy and happiness.

Happiness. He would never be happy again without Neroon.

A sob escaped his throat before he was aware of it. Quickly he clamped a hand over his mouth and looked at the ceiling, blinking furiously.

"Marcus, there is no need to suppress your grief. Tears are nothing to be ashamed of. Welcome them; they are necessary to help you heal."

Marcus looked at the priest with blurry eyes. The man sat there patiently, looking at him still with a friendly face, just as if he would wait until they could continue their conversation. As if nothing out of the ordinary was happening. He gave in and let a few tears run down his cheeks without feeling the usual discomfort at his inability to reign in his emotions. He was so stunned at the easy acceptance that the sudden overwhelming sorrow had been pushed to the background.

He soon calmed down again and soaked the wetness from face and beard with his continually damp sleeve. After a last composing and shaky sigh, he asked the young Minbari, "What will happen after the...?" helplessly he signed with a hand; he couldn't even speak of it aloud.

"Once the funeral rites at the grave are finished, all present are invited to the feast prepared at Neroon's rooms at the family residence in town. It is a way to thank the priests and friends for their participation and their sympathies as well as an opportunity for a family reunion. More of a family reunion in the end, really. It will evolve from a sedate and dignified reception to a more rambunctious affair. Once in private, the warriors will even indulge in rael buvah and you can imagine the results."

Marcus frowned rael buvah – 'burning water'. He also hadn't heard about that. It seemed he hadn't learned anything about the Warrior Caste in his time with Neroon. He swallowed another wave of sadness and asked with a thick voice, "What is rael buvah?"

"Oh. Well, the juice from a berry, slightly fermented. Sour, bitter and toxic. Just like grief. And just as maddening. Some warriors find it easier to show their grief then. Really, you warriors should take some lessons from us. To drink alcohol! Really."

Marcus looked down to hide a smile at the priest's apparent disapproval of the Warrior Caste's ways. But different from the young priest, he could correlate with the sentiment. Madness and violence, only without the alcohol. That's how he had been feeling in the beginning. Now, the violence was gone but the madness... maybe not madness per se, more of a chaos in his mind, an aimlessness he had never encountered before. Adrift... ghostlike...unreal. So detached from reality... This couldn't happen to him.

But everything around him felt so real! The coldness from the floor had numbed his feet some time ago, the smoke of the incense swirled tangible and fluidly through the room, the chants resounded pleasantly from the walls, the candles' light and warmth, the scuffling of moving people. All very real and yet he felt as if he was not part of this reality.

"Marcus?" the priest tried to get his attention with a slight touch to his arm. Had he spaced out? He shook his head to clear away the lingering and confusing thoughts and looked at the Minbari, just as the young man tried to suppress a yawn. What time was it anyway?

"Will anybody join you tomorrow? I could sit with you if you will accept my company."

Yes, he would be alone here, he realized. His knee started to bounce nervously. He didn't know any of Neroon's relatives in person, he had only heard the one or other name during their conversations. He was in the lion's den, maybe not as a mouse, more like a jackal, a rival. He was hesitant to accept the offer. It seemed like a sign of weakness.

Bugger weakness! He had already thrown a tantrum like a five-year old, had fainted like some pansy and cried like a baby. His dignity wouldn't suffer any more only because somebody was sitting next to him. If he needed somebody to hold his hand during the ceremony he would fucking accept it!

"I'd appreciate your company."

"I will be there. But if you don't mind I'll rest now. Why don't you lie down a bit yourself? It will be a taxing day tomorrow."

"Maybe. Thank you again."

"Good night, Marcus."

* * *

He wandered through the generous garden in desperate need of solitude. Even the serene Minbari reception had been too much after a short time. Especially because he hadn't felt welcome in the slightest. His presence had been met with indifference and wariness at the best and with barely concealed hostility at the worst. He hadn't expected it to be this bad and taxing.

With a heavy heart even heavier, he noted the slight damage of the civil war even on Warrior Caste property. There were scorch marks on the garden wall where it hadn't crumbled entirely; fire had destroyed a huge part of lawn and what once must have been flower beds; large tree limbs lay on the ground, their leaves wilted. But the trees themselves were still standing; a little worse for the wear, but still there. He moved over to the nearest tree, noting the damage shown through the visibility of light wood against the brown bark: it was considerable, the proud top almost diminished by half. Searching for some comfort, he touched the rough bark.

'How old are you my proud tree? What else have you seen and survived?'

"That's Neroon's tree."

Somehow the soft statement didn't startle him and slowly he turned towards the voice. Questioningly he looked at the Minbari female who had suddenly appeared, then at the tree and back to the Minbari again.

"Father planted it after Neroon's birth. Giving life for having received life. Mine is the one over there. Rather less impressive, don't you think?"

When Marcus didn't come forth with any remark, the Minbari female sat down under the tree and invited him to do the same with a smile.

He didn't know how to feel at the sight and with the knowledge that this was Neroon's tree. But for today he definitely had run out of tears. So, he just sat down gingerly under the tree with stinging eyes.

He was weary and fingered the small wooden box with the stone he had unexpectedly been handed at the burning, remembering the accompanying words.

'May this gift of the dead bring you benefit and solace in your life.'

He guessed it had also been in the will that he was given a diamond. Because after how he had been received by Neroon's family he didn't expect any kindness towards his person other than dutiful hospitality. Although everybody seemed to know that he had been bonded to Neroon.

"I've come here quite frequently since my brother left us. Suddenly I miss him, although we haven't seen each other in person for more than ten years. For me, it was only a small step from temporary to eternal absence. I already lost him years ago and had time to gradually adjust throughout the last decade." She paused. "It must be much worse for you, I understand? You just had gotten to know him... intimately."

He didn't know what to expect of this woman. When would the blow fall? He only gave a curt nod and looked at his entwined fingers. His hands were pale and blotchy from repeated maltreatment, from clutching each other painfully, from nails biting into skin, from rubbing away tears. And from the cold; it wasn't exactly warm outside.

"Are you Neroon's sister Alinn?" he asked hoarsely. "I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention very much to... anything actually."

"Yes, I'm Alinn. And don't worry, even if you had paid attention it would have been difficult to get every name; it's an extensive family... I would welcome you into the clan, but I would be the only one to greet you with open arms, I'm sure you noticed. They kind of blame you that Neroon has died without heir. They wouldn't have invited you if Neroon hadn't settled it in his will. I don't care about that, so all my welcome is worth... I'm delighted to get to know you."

"Thank you," he looked up and faintly smiled at Alinn. But his smile faded at what he saw. He had been too caught up to notice the cuts, welts and bruises on the Minbari's uncovered skin. Of course; she was Warrior Caste and there had been a war raging only few days ago. Alinn's skin portrayed that fact as did the garden. "I'm sorry... I... Did you lose many others?"

"Oh, no. Neroon was the only 'casualty of war' in our clan. Most warriors were quite safe in their strongholds or war ships. And I... I just look like this because I once again decided not to agree with clan – or rather Caste – politics. I sided with the Worker Caste as soon as it was decided that the Warrior Clans would form their own council to gain power, to be able to rein in the 'domineering' and 'warmongering' Religious Caste. Most of them still don't realize how serious the war against the Shadows was. 'They can't have been threatening to this galaxy when a bunch of Human's was able to banish them.' They still don't realize the true potential of Human's and other 'minor' races. They don't understand that a single Rihaty is nothing, but as a whole they can take down a house."

There was an unusual amount of bitterness in her voice. It intrigued him and because it still seemed to be in his nature, he asked, "What happened to you?" What happened to the Minbari who weren't Warrior Caste?

"I was lucky. Unlike many others. I was in the capital when the violence started, helping some friends to pack their things and leave for the country, instead of hiding myself in the shelter on our estate. When the windows started to vibrate and rattle in their frames we knew it was too late. Flyers were descending on the city, shooting with their particle cannons uncaring about what they'd hit.

"Of course, we left the house as quickly as possible, trying to reach the nearest makeshift shelter. Three of us didn't even make it out of the house before it collapsed."

Marcus watched how the Minbari got lost in thought, her face showing a small smile of sad wonder. Wind rustled through the leaves over their heads, ruffled Alinn's robe and blew hair into his eyes.

Except for the ISN news and the short report from Susan, he hadn't heard anything concerning the fights. How serious had it been? When had all that started?

"How did you make it out?"

She looked up, her eyes bright and red with unshed tears but the smile was still in place.

"I just ran," she continued with a helpless, self-conscious shrug. "It was so loud and there was so much dust in the air that I couldn't see anything at first and it was very difficult to breathe. I just stumbled around, away from the building, away from the smoke and dust and debris. That's when I suddenly found myself in the middle of an intersection, everywhere space around me, nothing to hide and I was surrounded by fire, walls of fire with nowhere to go. And even from above there suddenly came flames, touching the ground and running towards me. There was no possibility to hide except a lighting crystal. Of all things I hid behind a slender lighting crystal, just imagine!" she exclaimed softly and shook her head in astonishment.

"But before the flames' heat was able to burn my skin, they dissolved into an oily black cloud. And then all flames had gone and I continued to run in any direction since I had gotten lost, everything looked so different with the fires and destroyed buildings. I ran until my breath burned in my lungs and my legs became too heavy to move safely over the rubble. I stopped to catch my breath and looked around. There were hardly any people on the street, everybody around only cared for themselves, running somewhere to supposed safety. I found myself near the river, I had to have run quite a distance to have reached the river. No wonder I was exhausted. And then I heard another wave of flyers and I just ran towards the river. I thought to hide under the bridge. The flyers were already so near and I just rolled down the embankment in my haste to get to the near cover. And under the bridge there were already several people, fighters from the Religious Caste I noticed, and they saw me, pulled me into safety and threw themselves over me. They protected me with their own bodies! If they recognized that I was Warrior Caste, they didn't care."

Mesmerized Marcus listened to this woman, to Neroon's sister. It was a tale of horrible times and yet she told it with such wonder and amazement in her voice because of the repeated luck that let her survive the bombardment of the city. Her tone was soft and calm, and she was very conscious of her words. The tears glittering in her eyes always threatened to fall and yet they never did as if they were eternally clinging to those open, honest orbs of the same dark color as Neroon's.

She told of the celebration at the end of the war before she knew *how* the fighting had been stopped. That Warriors and Workers had been celebrating together.

She talked about the pride and sorrow at her brother's actions. She seldom had agreed with his decisions and especially the actions the Warrior Caste had recently taken. She had heard about the crimes against the Worker Caste. About them being not directly killed by their brethren but by the weather. The warriors kept their hands clean and yet everyone who dared to believe, knew it was murder nonetheless. It seemed her brother had not been guided by such base reasons but by the uncertain future of Minbar, by the cowardly actions of Shakiri – whose mouth had been bigger than a War Cruiser but whose heart was guided by greed and the thought of superiority instead of a desire for unity. Shakiri who had wanted to reintroduce the laws of old, of the times before Valen. Who had praised their untainted lines in contrast to Delenn's mixed blood. Marcus remembered what Neroon once had said about Shakiri, that somebody who was boasting of his ancestry was praising the deeds of another. Marcus at once had accused Neroon of stealing the quote from Seneca. He suddenly recalled the ensuing bantering in all clarity, could feel Neroon's warm hands tickling his bare stomach and heard their joined laughter.

With difficulty he released the memory and returned to the cool, grey afternoon. Alinn was staring in the distance, her face pensive. Were her thoughts also on Neroon? Or was she still remembering the attacks? It must be even more difficult to deal with everything. She had to be traumatized by her repeated near escapes.

It had been a new experience to hear the events told by someone from the inside instead to hear it through official channels. They hadn't really been in the thick of it, weren't really affected. It was the story of the normal people, not the rulers. And it was a different story. There still was some unity among the Castes, where prejudices didn't rule in the face of terror.

And he realized something else. Alinn had the same ability to enchant him with her voice as Neroon. It seemed that a certain kind of charisma ran in the family, although Alinn's was different, more simple and honest in her emotions. Balanced and calm in contrast to Neroon's intensity and forcefulness.

'Miss you, Neroon. Miss you.' He slung his arms protectively around his torso.

"Sorry," he sniffed. What was he apologizing for? It wasn't as if Minbari didn't cry, he had seen enough proof earlier. Unfortunately, he had run out of tissues by now. Embarrassing. He was thinking of discreet methods to wipe his nose on his sleeve when Alinn handed him a handkerchief. He pressed it against his sore eyes and cleaned his running nose. It was getting easier to let himself cry without feeling embarrassed.

"Thank you for your kindness. I appreciate it."

"I have to make up for a whole clan. It was Neroon's whish that they treat you at least with respect if not with love. But I have not seen one of them treating you kindly. Had you been a Minbari, they might at least have shown you the respect befitting Neroon's rightful ma'fela. I'm truly sorry for their behavior. That's probably why Neroon had a letter brought to me in case of his death. He asked me to look after you. If you'd let me," she added with a lopsided smile.

"He was awfully ready to die. Did he plan to sacrifice himself?"

Since he had only wondered his thoughts out loud and hadn't meant it as a real question, he was startled to receive an answer from Alinn.

"I'm not sure I understand. A warrior always lives with the knowledge of death and prepares accordingly. Especially in such uncertain times as now. It is considered as disrespectful towards your clan to leave behind unresolved business and unsettled affairs. I don't think he knew he would die this day, the letter I received was already written much earlier, just as the will. He had both set up the same day, about half a year ago."

Marcus smiled sadly; that would have been around the time they had exchanged the rings. So Neroon had been pretty serious about the whole business. Maybe this would have turned out just right after all. He would never know now.

"Can… can you suggest a hotel? I've not yet had time to arrange a place to sleep," he choked out. The darn tears were still too close to the surface for his liking.

"I have a small house towards the north of the grounds. As you see, I'm banished from the main house. I have a guest bedroom; you may use it if you want, as long as you have need of it. And nobody needs to know that you are staying there, in case you worry about it. The grounds are vast and I'm only rarely bothered."

"Thank you. But I only accept because Neroon wants you to look after me. Can as well make it easier for you."

"Good! Then come with me, it soon will be too dark to easily find our way."

* * *

And Alinn had taken care of him. She had been most supportive from the beginning, had made him take walks with her on the spacious grounds when he would have hidden in bed; had sent him to Sech Durhann to keep up his form in pike fighting; talked openly about Neroon; listened to him relating stories from their relationship while Stephen usually shied away from the topic. Alinn also had forced him to see a physician when he had hit a time of insomnia, as well as a psychologist since he had been quickly deteriorating not only physically but also mentally at the time. It had been the best decision he had ever let somebody else make for him. He still couldn't understand why he had let himself become so full of despair and neglect himself. The loss of loved ones never had been reason to invite death before.

The helamer Alinn had dragged him to, had given him a prescription for something to help him sleep and had told him to eat regularly despite his lack of appetite. Not much, considering how bad he had been. But getting regular sleep had been a huge step in the right direction, almost instantly improving his general well-being. And under Alinn's relentless supervision, he had managed to eat more often, even if still forced and not out of want.

And the soul healer had simply told him to take a time of the day and a place where he would himself allow to think of Neroon and his loss, a time to grieve and let it go bit by bit and not to let the grief determine his life; to find a way to connect to his grief and let it out controlled. He had been told that it was acceptable to let himself be overwhelmed by his feelings in the beginning, but later, it would become a serious impairment for his health to wallow in sorrow.

He had chosen Neroon's tree as a place for his grief, although he had been very doubtful that crying his eyes out once a day while sitting under Neroon's tree would actually help him. More often than not he had sat in silence, sometimes talking to Neroon, eventually always crying in the first year after his lover's death.

And – of course – it had been hard to press on when his feelings had become overwhelming at the simplest things like just eating flarn one day, or seeing an elderly couple of male Minbari briefly touching hands in public. Yes, it had been difficult. He often had had to suppress the urge to succumb to his loss and to only let his emotions come to the fore at a time he determined. But after several weeks it had become better. He had told himself, only two more hours and he could release his grief.

He hadn't always succeeded and sometimes had started to weep uncontrolled in the middle of something. But in the end, he had learned to deal with the soul-deep pain and just let it wash over him instead of becoming drowned.

Sometimes... sometimes tears still would flow without reason, without warning. Then he would visit the tree because the tree had become a consolation over time, not any longer a place to grief. There he felt close to Neroon; the grave didn't mean anything to him.

Neroon's absence still pained him, but it was better. He had found a task to honor Neroon's death and the distracting work for the foundation helped to deal with his loss. He had started a whole new life, a life without the Anla'shok, a life without Neroon. Just as his psychologist had promised, keeping himself busy was an essential part to heal. He should thank her one of those days.

Another simple but instrumental advice from his soul healer was to give himself time, to respect his limits whether physical or emotional. The Minbari's respect for his open despair had been helpful for him to accept his boundaries. They weren't uncomfortable with his occasional outbreaks because grieving was understood and honored, the concerned ones supported. No-one told him to finally get over it.

Grief also wasn't solitary on Minbar and it had been weird at the beginning to have strangers inquire about the reason for his tears, have them listen attentively and even sharing about times of their own sorrow.

Unlike his own race, he thought, who usually turned away from a person in grief. Especially men weren't supposed to show tears in public as not to appear weak. A stupid notion as he had soon disabused.

Although Stephen had helped him during the first days, Marcus had the impression – now in hindsight – that the other man had been uncomfortable and helpless in the face of his distress. Additionally, except Stephen, nobody of the others had looked in on him while he had still been on B5, not even for five minutes. Of course, they had been busy with plotting a war against Clark… but not even a message until he had been on Minbar? It still made him sad that almost all contact had been broken. Only Stephen still called occasionally and sometimes Lennier left a message.

But all in all, life had become manageable again, though a certain emptiness in his heart, a loneliness in his mind never left him. Neroon had truly been 'The One' for him.

* * *

Epilogue:  
\- How are you, Marcus?

~ Alinn. Tired, my joints ache.

\- You know what I meant.

~ Yes.

\- ...

~ I'll never forget what we had. I'll never forget how his loss pained me. But by now it's become only a vague reminiscence of which I also think fondly because it's part of what we had, what I am now. What has been accomplished because of his sacrifice.  
The castes reunited, and as strong as before. The inclusion of Humans and other races in the ranks of the Rangers. Living like brothers, no longer separate. That has only become possible because Neroon opened our eyes. I thank you for helping to build up the foundation. Somehow, I'm glad that I still remember him as he was, that we didn't have to see each other grow old.

\- It was my pleasure, Marcus. It was a way to honor my brother by totally working against his former ideas. He just would have loved it!

~ Yes.

\- If you are fine, why the sad air around you?

~ ... I thought about leaving.

\- Many would be sad to see you go. You are of value for us and much honored.

~ As I will be sad to leave. I do not go lightly. I also will be sad of what and who I leave behind. But my body fails me more and more each day – you wouldn't have found me here otherwise, I just couldn't summon the energy to get back inside – my mind lives more in the past than in the present. I'm content to sit here all day with nary speaking a word, no company than myself and the birds and trees, the wind and the sky. I've seen many come and go. Though in the last years I think I have seen more go than come.

\- You've lived a long life for a Human. You are entitled to rest. And you should rejoice because you will be reunited with your beloved in spirit and you will soon travel together again. I would wish you a more pleasant meeting and future in your next presence in this universe.

~ You know I do not believe in rebirth.

\- It does not matter if you believe in something that just is. I know with certainty that we have met before … How much time do we have to say good-bye? When will you leave?

~ When it is time, I suppose. I'm not that certain about it as you Minbari always seem to be. Not today, not tomorrow. It's not important. Business is all settled, I'm just the honorary paying an occasional visit, making a sorry public appearance... I will see when it is time ... Would you help me back inside? It's getting cold.

* * *

"Good night; son, brother, Anla'shok, Ma'fela, Sala'mal ... Marcus," she said when the man's eyes closed.

 

FINIS

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The title is a quote from 'The Princess Bride'.  
> Minbari words are from Hightower's Minbari Dictionary.  
> A/N2: Many, many thanks to Third Charm for holding hands and playing guinea pig. Thanks, sweety!


End file.
